Phones
by littleoases
Summary: "Santana's favorite thing about her phone might be the stored voicemails she has from Brittany."


Brittany really needs to stop fucking with Santana's phone.

"Wait, so this is the 4S, right?" Brittany asks when Santana returns from the AT&T store. "So it has that talking lady on it?"

"Siri, yeah."

"Why would they name her after Tom Cruise's daughter? That's kind of weird."

"Look, watch this." Santana holds down the Menu button until the phone chimes, and then she speaks into it like it's magic. "Siri, call my girlfriend."

The phone chimes again, and then a cool, clinical voice says, "Calling Brittany."

"Whoa."

Santana hits _End_ and waggles her eyebrows at Brittany. "Pretty neat, right?"

"How did she know I was your girlfriend?"

"I can program her. It's awesome. Like, I can even tell her to call me different nicknames."

"That is awesome. Do it."

"Siri," Santana says, "from now on, I want you to call me Lady Snix."

"I can do that, Lady Snix," Siri says.

Four days later, Santana realizes that Siri takes orders from Brittany, too.

"Siri, play my 'Running' mix," she dictates as she steps out into her garage, loosening the strings on her hoodie. The phone chimes and processes her command, but it takes longer than it usually does. Santana shifts her weight from one sneakered foot to the other and waits.

After a moment, Siri's cool voice speaks to her.

_Sorry, Brittany's Pussy-Slayer Warrior Princess, I didn't get that. _

Santana's mouth parts in shock. She stares down at the phone, which is balanced delicately in her left hand, and considers whether or not she just heard right. The text version of Siri's speech appears on the screen, spelled out for her in thin white letters, and sure enough, Santana just heard right.

"Brittany Susan Pierce…" she mutters, feeling half impressed and half screwed with, and then, fuck it, she starts her run anyway.

She's about eight minutes into her run, right in the middle of a Florence + the Machine song, when the absurdity of Brittany's little joke really hits her. She sprints around a corner and laughs hard into the late-autumn air.

…

Okay, Brittany _really _needs to stop fucking with her phone.

Santana's sitting in her dad's favorite leather armchair, her legs kicked up in front of her, a jar of peanut butter on her lap and a bag of apples on the table next to her. When _House Hunters_ goes to commercial, she picks up her phone to text Sam.

_Hey what are boobies up to? _she sends.

"Fuck," she says, realizing the mistake.

_Sorry! I didn't mean to send that! _she types hurriedly.

Sam writes back immediately. _Lol. What the hell, Santana?_

_Someone fucked with my text messages! _she writes quickly. _Was it boobies?_

"Fuck!" she huffs. "The fuck?"

_Okay seriously Lopez? Are you drunk at 2 in the afternoon? _

"Brittany. What did you do to my phone."

Brittany laughs on the other end of the line. "Hello to you, too."

"_Hello_," Santana says, laughing in spite of herself. "Now what did you do?"

"It sounds like you're accusing me of something here, San. Do you really think I did something to your phone?"

"I _know_ you did something to my phone."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm innocent."

"Britt, I love you, but I'll kill you."

Brittany snickers. "What's wrong with your phone, honey?"

"It keeps typing weird things! Like every time I try to text something to Sam, it changes the words to say 'boobies'!"

Brittany giggles uncontrollably, and Santana narrows her eyes and shakes her head, unable to believe her girlfriend could prank her like this, and even more unable to believe that she finds it endearing.

"Wow," Brittany says finally, breathing hard from laughing, "sounds like your phone's really got a mind of its own."

"Very funny. What did you do."

And after some more interrogation from Santana, Brittany admits to having tampered with her shortcut settings so that anytime Santana types "you," the phone changes it to "boobies."

"I am so getting you back for this," Santana swears.

Brittany laughs without remorse and asks, "Don't you mean 'I am so getting boobies back for this'?"

…

Santana does get her back.

"I can't believe you," Brittany says when Santana answers the phone one Sunday afternoon.

"What? What'd I do?"

"Did you change all of my caller ID pictures to a glamor shot of Rachel?"

Santana's quiet for a split-second, but then she says, relishing the words, "You mean you didn't like that surprise? I thought it'd make you so happy to see her face every time you got a call."

"Santana, it's evil, it's like I can't escape her. My mom called me just now and I declined it because that picture of Rachel popped up!"

Santana laughs hard, gripping the kitchen counter as she imagines Brittany's horrified face. "Payback's a bitch, baby."

"This isn't payback, Santana. This is long-lasting trauma you're inflicting on me."

"You don't like Rachel, Britt? Gosh, I'm sorry, I thought seeing her face over and over again would be a treat for you."

"You are so the worst."

"I'll change them all back for you later," Santana promises, laughter coating her voice. "Except for mine. I didn't change my picture."

"Good, because that would have seriously scarred me for life if I had gotten a phone call from you with Rachel Berry's face attached to it."

"Not a turn-on?"

"Not a turn-on."

"Good. Just checking."

...

Santana's favorite thing about her phone might be the stored voicemails she has from Brittany.

She shouldn't have very many Brittany voicemails, considering how quickly and eagerly she accepts Brittany's calls, but she has a few saved from those rare occasions when she was sleeping and her phone was on silent, or that one time when she forgot her phone in her dad's car, or that one day when she and her mom were at the movies.

And the best part of Brittany's voicemails, aside from the sweet "I love you" that she breathes into the line at the end of every message, is definitely the salutation. When Santana plays voicemails from her mom, they always, every single time, begin with, "Hi, _mija, _it's your mami"; and when Santana plays voicemails from her glee friends, they always begin with the same boring formula of "Hey Santana, it's _"; but when Santana plays her voicemails from Brittany, the first few words are never the same.

_Hi San-tanners_.

_Hi Seen-teanna, this is Breet-ney from Meesh-i-gean. _

_Hey there, sugar booger. Missing me?_

_Greetings, this is Brittany S. Pierce, I was calling to speak to my mistress?_

_Hey honey-bunny-sweet-thing. _

_Santana? Hello? Is this thing on? SANTANA I HATE THIS VOICEMAIL THING. Also, just a thought, can we start calling it Voice-female instead? I think we'd both like that better. _

Santana's favorite voicemail, though, is actually the one with the simplest greeting, the one she awoke to a few days after Christmas, the one she listened to with her eyes still closed so she could pretend Brittany was in the bed next to her.

_Hi baby_, Brittany's voice says softly_, I know you're asleep, but I wanted to call anyway. New Mexico is lame without you. I'm sleepy but I don't want to go to sleep without you. Will you call me in the morning, even if it's early? I want to hear your voice. I love you. Night. _

...

When Brittany upgrades to an iPhone, Santana's favorite thing to do is steal it and set Brittany's Facebook status.

_Brittany S. Pierce-IS HANGING OUT WITH MY FAVORITE PERSON EVER AKA SANTANA!_

_Brittany S. Pierce-My girlfriend is superior to all of you. ALL of you._

_Brittany S. Pierce-I am a genius. Was dinosaur prom the best thing ever, or was it the best thing ever?_

Usually Brittany just shakes her head, her tongue poking out between her teeth, and leaves the status as it is, waiting for the comments from their friends and fellow McKinleyans to pour in. _Satan, can you please stop updating Brittany's page? You're blowing up my news feed_, Mercedes writes. _Santana, does Brittany actually LET you do this? _Quinn writes. _Dino prom was definitely the best ever! And hi Santana, _Mike writes.

Sometimes they all think that Santana's updating Brittany's status even when she's not, like when Santana opens her computer one night in May, right after she gets back from BreadStiX with Brittany, and finds people commenting on Brittany's newly-updated Facebook status.

_Brittany S. Pierce-I am in love with the most amazing person in the history of the entire world and I just want everyone to know that. _

And Santana smiles and feels her body go soft, because even though all of her friends are commenting about how Santana is really totally such a narcissist and jeeze Santana can you tone it down?, Santana knows who really wrote this status, and how that person really feels, and she doesn't need anyone else to know that.

...

Sometimes Santana sends Brittany pictures. And maybe sometimes they're dirty, but most of the time they're just sweet.

And right now, while this boring dean drones on and on about the required core classes for the College of Arts & Sciences, would be a good time to send a sweet picture.

Santana pulls the orientation schedule closer to her, then steals her mom's pen off the table. Her mom gives her a look that says _I'm glad you're finally writing down some of this information, young lady._

She writes the words "I love you" across the bottom of the page, in a cursive script that she only ever uses when she writes Brittany love letters. She shades the letters darker, so that they become more pronounced, and then she draws a couple of hearts underneath the "love" part.

She makes sure her phone is definitely on silent so that the "image capture" noise doesn't sound. Then she positions the phone directly above the words, makes sure the words are centered, and takes the picture.

She sends the picture off to Brittany without any message attached, thinking that the picture itself is the only message she'll ever really need.

Her mom side-frowns at her. Santana shrugs her shoulders in a _Whatever, sorry_ kind of way and drops the phone down to her lap. She listens to the dean for a few minutes and even writes down some of the information the dean shares with the room of new students, but when her phone vibrates in her lap, she unlocks it right away to read Brittany's reply.

_How did you know I needed that right now? _

Santana's heart deflates and beats stronger at the same time.

…

Sometimes Brittany does sweet things with her phone, too.

"Did Santana ever tell you what her Papi used to sing to her as a baby?" Santana's mom asks Brittany over dinner in early July.

Santana's dad laughs around his food. He drinks from his water glass and says, almost shyly, "Come on, Maribel."

Santana shines her eyes on her father. "She's always trying to embarrass us, Dad."

"I am not," Santana's mom says. "Brittany, did she?"

"Ever tell me? I don't think so…"

"Around the time you girls were born, there was this popular song on the radio-what's the title, Santana?"

"'I swear.'"

"That's right. By One for All."

"All-4-One," Santana and her dad say together.

"Yes. We used to hear that song on the radio all the time-on Sunday mornings driving back from church with Santana in her infant carseat, and over our kitchen radio while we were cleaning or preparing her baby food-and Santana's papi could not resist singing it to our little _mija_. He would hold her in his arms and look down into her little face and sing the song to her, usually when he thought I wasn't looking, but even sometimes when he knew I was."

Santana's dad taps his fork against his ceramic plate. "I couldn't help it. Do you remember the big brown eyes on our beautiful girl? Do you remember how she'd go from frowning to smiling as soon as I started singing? I couldn't help myself."

Brittany smiles at Santana; Santana smiles down at her plate, feeling shy, but then Brittany takes her hand under the table and plays with her fingers until she looks at her.

Brittany misplaces her phone a few days later.

"I know I just had it," she says, spinning wildly around her bedroom. "I was just texting Mike before you came in!"

"It's okay, we'll find it," Santana tells her. She taps her _Favorites_ button and taps the name at the very top-_Brittany 3-_and waits for her phone to call Brittany's.

Brittany stands with her hands on her hips in the middle of the room, biting her bottom lip and frowning. "I just had it…"

And then they hear muffled music.

_And I swear, by the moon and the stars in the sky_

_I'll be there_

_I swear, like the shadow that's by your side_

_I'll be there_

"Ah!" Brittany says, her eyes bright as she finds the phone between her pulled-over comforter and her sheets. "Why do I always do that."

"Britt," Santana says, her smile funny.

"Yeah?"

"Did you-was that ringtone-?"

Brittany's cheeks pink. She glances down at her phone and bites her lip again. "Oh. Yeah. I mean, I know that's your dad's song for you and everything, but I just thought…"

Santana grins. She steps forward and pulls Brittany's hand up until Brittany raises her face to look at her. "I love it," she tells her.

"Really?"

"Yes. Can you make that my ringtone forever?"

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise. I mean-" she smiles her playful smile- "I swear."

...

Sometimes Brittany relies on her phone in ways that she'll never share with Santana.

Like tonight, when Santana is hours away, experiences away, with a new bedding set and new cheerleading routines and new friends to hear all the little details of her day.

They both pretend like the phone is enough. But Brittany feels sad all the time, even right now, just minutes after her nighttime phone call with Santana. Just minutes after hearing Santana go quiet on the other line and then say, almost timidly, "I don't know if I'll ever get over missing you, Britt."

Brittany wishes Santana could just keep her on the line all day, while she walks around campus and eats in the dining hall and sits in her lectures and studies in her dorm room. Brittany could stay home from school and lie in her bed and just _listen_ to everything Santana does.

She can't do that, though, so she sinks back into the pictures and videos.

_Britt, stop, turn that off. I'm not doing the Donald Duck voice if you're going to record it._

_Please?_

_No._

_Please?_

_[A reluctant smile.] Fine. [Santana says "Brittany" in her Donald Duck voice. Santana says "I love you" in her Donald Duck voice.]_

Brittany presses her thumb to the screen, moves backward to the previous video, presses "Play."

[_The camera shakes as Brittany runs after Santana through Santana's kitchen, into the foyer, Santana shrieking, Brittany laughing, until Santana collapses by the staircase and the camera drops down next to her.]_

_Show me your face!_

_No!_

_[Brittany grabs Santana's wrists and pulls them away from her face. Santana laughs and tries to wipe her chocolate-covered nose on her arm.]_

_What'd you do, crazy girl? How'd you get all that chocolate on your face?_

_My so-called _girlfriend_ wiped it on me!_

_I can't believe that! You must be dating a real crazy._

_[Santana laughs and falls down onto her back.]_

_Can I kiss it off you?_

_[Santana's laughter stops. She looks straight up into the camera, her eyes so dark and clear that she might almost be real. "Yeah," she says. She smiles.]_

_[The video ends.] _

Brittany wipes her eyes on the corner of her pillow. It hurts to watch these. It reminds her of the feeling she used to have when she would take off her ballet shoes and willingly examine her cut, bruised, aching feet.

She scrolls back through some pictures-Mercedes with the balloons Sam gave her, Ashley climbing a tree, Quinn beaming as she holds a Yale pennant-until she finds one of her favorite pictures of Santana. The one she took on a Sunday evening in the park, after Santana surprised her with a picnic basket and a pretty flower-patterned dress and the promise of playing on the swing set.

Santana half-bites her lip, half-smiles at the camera. One of her arms is wrapped around the swing chain. The other, Brittany remembers, was on Brittany's thigh. Santana's hair falls out of her hastily-tied messy bun and a few strands of it carry the light of the setting sun.

She is beautiful.

Brittany falls asleep to this picture, to this memory, every few nights. Tonight will be one of them.

Or at least, that's what she thinks until her phone rings again.

_And I swear…_

"Hello?"

"Britt? Are you crying?"

Brittany swallows. "No."

Santana laughs. "Me too."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. No. I miss you too much. I was just re-reading our old texts."

"I was just looking through old pictures and videos."

"You were?"

"Why do I feel like our phones are the only way we really have each other anymore?"

"They won't be for long. I promise."

"Come home to me. I miss you."

"Soon, baby."

"Are you in bed?"

"Yeah."

"Can we just-fall asleep on the phone together?"

She hears Santana breathe out. "I would love that."

And even though she'd rather have her girl next to her on the pillow, tonight the phone is enough.

..


End file.
